


Out Of The Depths

by Ymas



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s04e01 Seamen, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22131523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymas/pseuds/Ymas
Summary: “We have survived. And on that terrible disappointment – for Top Gear – it’s time to say goodbye.”Jeremy said it mostly to make the other two laugh, right? Right.A coda to 'Seamen'.Richard is sick. James almost dies (off-screen). Jeremy hurts his back. They survive, though.
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond/James May
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	Out Of The Depths

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with whose boat ran into how much trouble and why. Among other things ;-)
> 
> And of course [delighted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted) looked it over again... my gratefulness knows no bounds. <3

It's Jeremy who helps him off the boat.   
  
James isn't even sure why they bother to pretend he’s made it. He’d had to be rescued. Taken out in the middle of a shoot. It must be glaringly obvious. He's wearing a rain poncho now, for one.   
  
But he plays along. Follows Jeremy's lead. Jeremy always knows what's best for the show. So James doesn't mention it. Acts as if he’s made it across under his own steam.   
  
He gets off the fucking boat - which _really_ doesn’t deserve the insult, considering that it held, didn't snap. He should call it the fantastic boat instead, the wonderful boat. Give it some credit.   
  
He staggers off his perfect, beautiful little boat, leaning heavily on Jeremy's shoulder, and sinks down on the jetty. He's trembling all over.   
  
Jeremy is saying something but James only has eyes for Richard, Richard, who is tethering James’ amazing boat. The rush of relief is so fierce he almost throws up.   
  
He’d had to be taken off his boat. And not even by his own crew boat, because that had needed rescuing by Richard’s crew boat after it had taken on water because James had run into it. Or maybe it had already been in trouble at the time and James had only made it worse, who knows, James certainly doesn’t know anything anymore. But James had to be picked up by Jeremy's crew, by Jeremy’s support boat, by Jeremy’s rescue team.  
  
It had been that or go overboard. He’d been too exhausted to even hold on, let alone steer.   
  
Luckily someone, somewhere, had realised it in time. That James had been on the verge of giving up.   
  
He thinks he should probably thank his at that point miraculously still working on board camera. Or well, his fabulous little boat in general.   
  
So while James had been rescued by Jeremy’s rescue team, Richard’s rescue team had rescued James’ crew and rescue team.  
  
There had been a moment of sheer panic when James had realized that Jeremy and Richard were on their own. In a fit of madness he'd almost jumped into the water to try and reach them swimming when someone had told him they couldn't be raised on the radio.   
  
He’d had to be held back.   
How embarrassing.   
  
“They’ll be fine,” Iain had said after James had stopped fighting and collapsed onto the deck in a shivering heap. “We’re much more worried about you than them.”   
  


James hadn't been sure that was right. Jeremy would be okay, Jeremy always somehow is ok after all, but Richard is still so sick. The amount of puke James has seen over the past couple of days will last him a lifetime. Richard is full of antibiotics and still running a fever. James had been utterly terrified for him.   
  
Looking at him now, red eyes, pale face but smiling tentatively, the relief makes James even more trembly, even more weak-kneed than the whole rest of this gruelling experience has.   
  
“May,” Jeremy says softly, lifting his chin with two fingers, running a thumb over James’ cheek as he does. Supportive Jeremy. Guilty Jeremy. Worried Jeremy. A side of him that will never make it onto the show or into public. The crew is fiercely loyal. “Can you stand up? Just for a bit to finish?” James wrenches his eyes away from Richard, settles them on Jeremy's ashen, exhausted face. Yeah. He might have had the best boat, but it sure looks like he's had quite the time of it himself. “Because I'm about to fall down, so if you can't, this here is our ending.”   
  
“Which is fine, we can work with that,” Richard says and Phil, the producer, nods.   
  
James nods too and pulls himself together. Jeremy probably wants to help him up, but he's leaning on him, holding him down more than anything, and Phil needs the help of Iain to get James to his feet and keep Jeremy upright in the process.  
  
James stands behind Jeremy as he quickly runs through a couple of very short recap variations, swaying slightly on his feet and hoping to god he won't have to say anything. He’s not sure if he could. It takes all his concentration just to stand up straight.   
  
Richard is standing close, too close. He has a hand on his face, pretending to scratch an itch, a nervous tick he uses when he's feeling uncomfortable. When he's had enough. When he’s done.  
  
“We have survived,” James hears Jeremy say. And it’s far away, like it comes from the other end of a tunnel. “And on that terrible disappointment…” _pleasegodletthisbeit_, “... for Top Gear… “ Richard catches on a split second sooner, is already sniggering when the huff of laughter startles out of James, so unexpected it almost pitches him over forwards, “...it is time to end.”  
  
“Cut,” Phil says.   
  
“I'm not doing it again,” Jeremy.   
  
Phil looks unsure.   
  
“It ends on a laugh,” Andy says, coming up from his position behind the cameras. “What more do we want?”   
  
He signals an assistant and finally, blessedly, there is a coat around James' shoulders. Funnily enough it only makes the shivering worse.  
And who would have thought that it would be this fucking cold in Vietnam?  
  
"James?" Richard is in front of him and James gets a little lost in his eyes. Stunningly beautiful, even red-rimmed and crusted and with lids at half-mast. And then Richard moves forward and takes him into his arms. And instead of shying away, James falls into it. Closes his eyes, lets go, falls into it and manages to breathe properly for the first time since the two lifeguards had pulled him off that boat. Richard staggers a bit under the force of it and James has the presence of mind to think he shouldn't, Richard is much worse off than he is, he shouldn't lean on him so much, but Richard holds on tight and then James is beyond it. "It's alright,” Richard murmurs. "I was scared, too. But we made it."  
  
It's embarrassing as hell, but he needs it. And he knows it's the sensible thing to take it when offered. So he does. Lets his breathing and his heartbeat sync with Richard’s, and then he is able to pull himself together, to disentangle himself, and side by side they walk over the jetty towards the shore. They don't touch. But they don't leave much space between them, either.   
  
Jeremy is sitting on the wall of the quay, looking like he's about to keel over at any moment himself.   
  
James and Richard sit down on either side of him and it's so good to be on solid ground.   
_So_ good.  
  
“Alright?” Jeremy asks and it's mostly directed at James.   
  
“Know that I hate you, Clarkson, for putting me through this”, James says. It's hoarse and shaky and without venom, but not entirely unfounded.   
  
“Know that I hate myself for putting you both through this”, Jeremy replies, darkly.   
  
Richard shrugs. “It's gonna make for good telly.”   
  
“We’re not on telly anymore, you muppet,” James says and they all three muster a tired smile.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They get bundled up in thermal blankets and driven to a hotel, and it's a nice one.   
  
Their medical team checks them over, tuts at Richard's overexertion, at the state of Jeremy's back, at James’ near hypothermia, at the amount of dirty salt water they all three have swallowed, but lets them go.   
  
James sinks down on the bed in his room, pulling the thermal blanket he’s still holding closer around his shoulders, the duvet on the bed over his knees.   
  
He's shaken to the core and the extent of it unsettles and scares him.  
  
Maybe it's normal. Maybe it's the close call. Maybe it's the cold. Maybe it's the embarrassment.   
  
But he has always been able to bounce back quickly. There have been various hairy moments over the years. Many times he’s thought he wouldn't be able to do it. The North Pole. The Death Road. The accident in the Middle East.   
  
He’s always somehow made it, and then been able to shrug it off as soon as it was over. Laugh it off.   
  
Maybe it's because he's getting old. Hell, he _is_ old.   
  
Or maybe it's because it's only thanks to the quick reaction of the crew on board the support boat that he hadn't killed himself in a futile attempt to reach his colleagues.   
Maybe it's because the sheer amount of emotion at seeing Richard alive and relatively well has effectively debilitated him.   
  
Or because seeing the worry, the regret in Jeremy's eyes has put him into a state of shock.   
  
James sits, and stares straight ahead, and breathes.   
  
There are noises from the room next door. Scrabbling, a door falling shut, retching.   
  
James stands up from the bed and walks out of his room, blankets trailing after him.   
  
Richard’s door is slightly ajar, the lock turned so it can't fall all the way shut.  
  
The bathroom door is locked instead.   
  
James tries the handle once, then sits down on Richard's bed and waits.   
  
There are sounds of the toilet being flushed, of water running in the sink, the shower, more retching, more water.   
  
After a perceived eternity, Richard comes back out. He's pale, the too black beard a sharp contrast to his waxy skin. His hair is sticking out every which way. There are purple bags under his eyes.   
  
He is beautiful.   
  
“I'm alright,” he says, before James can even ask. “It's just the side effects of the antibiotics and swallowing half the sea.”   
  
“Richard, I think I'm in love with you.”   
  
The world grinds to a halt. Everything falls silent. They hold each other's eyes. It would be possible to hear a pin drop in China.  
  
James waits.  
  
Richard abruptly turns on his heel and dashes back into the bathroom to throw up once more.   
  
James waits.   
  
“You pick one hell of a time for your declarations, mate.” Richard re-emerges, dabbing at his sweaty face with a damp towel. He sits down next to James. Nudges him with an elbow when he doesn't react. James shrugs.   
  
“Oh, James,” Richard sighs, tipping over backwards until he's lying flat on the bed with his feet on the floor.   
  
James waits.   
  
After a very long silence, he chances a glance over.   
  
Richard is fast asleep.   
  
James gets up, lifts Richard's legs onto the bed, rearranges him so he's at least partly the right way up, pulls the blanket out from under him and carefully tucks it around him.   
  
Richard doesn't even stir.   
  
James stands there for a long moment, just looking at him and fighting the urge to crawl in beside him. Fighting the urge to touch.   
  
Eventually he pulls his own blankets tighter around himself, grabs Richard's key card and steps out into the hallway, letting the door fall into lock behind him.  
  
Andy is standing in front of James’ own door, hand raised mid-knock.  
  
“There you are,” he says, taking in James’ dishevelled, still unshowered state.   
  
James pockets Richard's key card and glares at Andy, warning him to stay away, to let Richard sleep.   
  
“Are you ok, James?”   
  
James doesn't have an answer.   
  
“Look, I wanted to ask if you’re hungry…”   
  
“Where's Jeremy?” James interrupts.   
  
“In bed, he's knackered.” A fond half-smile. “Broken old man.”   
  
“He’s older than any of us”, James says.   
  
“James, is there anything you need, can I get you something?”   
  
James’ brain is still slugging along like molasses. “I know how to operate a phone. I can call reception.”   
  
“Oh for heaven’s sake, James. I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry we’ve put you through this. If there's anything I can do to make it better, I will. Let me.”  
  
“Get me a key to Jeremy's room.” It hovers between an order, a question and a plea.   
  
The look Andy gives him turns from speculating to understanding.  
  
James isn't quite sure what exactly there is to understand, but Andy fishes a key card out of his jeans, so James doesn't question it. Just holds out his hand.  
  
"Yeah,” Andy says, placing the card in it and squeezing briefly. "You three take care of each other. One floor up, number 23. Don't worry, you'll be fine."  
  
James isn't quite sure what exactly he's not supposed to be worried about, but he nods and walks down the corridor to the stairs, his blankets trailing faithfully behind him.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Leave me alone, Wilman, I told you I'm fine!" Jeremy calls from the bedroom alcove as soon as James opens the door. Then, before James can reply or indicate it's him: "No actually, wait… could you switch off that window light before you go? There's no fucking master switch and I don't think I can get up from this bed ever again."  
  
James leaves the door on the latch. The crew knows full well this is not an invitation for _them_.  
  
"May?" Jeremy asks, surprised, when James steps into his view. He struggles to sit up but gives up with a groan, sinking back into the pillows and eyeing James warily from his half propped up state. "Sorry, I won't be much of a host tonight, I think that boat has done my back in for good." He squints in the dim light from the lamp by the window. "Are you alright, mate?"  
  
"Do you know that I love you?"  
  
Jeremy blinks rapidly a couple of times. "James… I sure hope you've known before today that I do."  
  
James huffs frustratedly, shakes his head.  
  
"Do you know that I'm _in love_ with you?"  
  
James watches, mesmerized, as Jeremy goes through so many emotions so rapidly, his expression can't quite keep up. His face does the funniest things, his mouth is soundlessly working.   
  
In the end, he just reaches a hand out towards James.   
  
James steps closer, sits down on the edge of the bed.   
  
"May," Jeremy says, hand hovering over James' arm, not quite making contact. "Bloody Nora, James. I don't think I would have ever been brave enough to say that out loud."  
  
James shrugs. "I almost died today, Jezza."  
  
There is a second of shocked, frozen silence as the reality of it all comes crashing back in and then Jeremy's hand makes contact, yanks James down, first by his upper arm, then by the back of his head with the other hand, and then he's being kissed, crushingly, desperately, bruisingly so.  
  
James kisses back, wet and aggressive, and for the first time since he'd been dropped back on his boat to steer it into the harbour for filming the ending, he feels the fog in his head lift. Feels the weight in his chest dissipate.

"We shouldn't have done it,” Jeremy pants. "We should have never gone out to open sea, ever. What if you… either of you. .. Imagine if… I could never..." he shudders.  
  
"I voted 'yes', same as Hammond did,” James says.   
  
Because it would be nice to blame Jeremy and Andy. Easy. But it's not the truth.   
  
Jeremy isn't their 'boss' anymore, hasn't been for many years. Neither is Andy. They are friends. A team. Equals. They make their decisions together. And if sometimes Jeremy is a little pushy, James and Richard know how to stand their ground. They could have vetoed. It's not Jeremy's fault. And it was a cock-move to imply that it was. "But I forgive you anyway,” he adds, because he knows Jeremy needs to hear it. "And if you want to make it up to me, let me pick our next destination."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Jeremy asks, sounding very slightly wet. He pulls James onto the bed, on top of himself, and hugs him close. "And where will we go, Captain Slow? Nob End, South Lancashire?”  
  
James melts into the embrace. "Somewhere warm and sunny. Where they have good wine. Or cold beer. Hot and dry. No snow, no ice, no rain. No getting wet for laughs. Cars."  
  
Jeremy chuckles. "I'll see what I can come up with."  
  
"And I don't want to get saddled with the worst vehicle again." James yawns. "I want something that at least gives me a chance and doesn't try to kill me."  
  
He's getting drowsy. His whole cushion quivers when Jeremy laughs. "That one's on you, mate. You choose them yourself, remember?"  
  
"Mmmmm."  
  
It's nice. He's warm. For the first time today he's warm and comfortable and he just wants to sleep.  
  
Jeremy elbows him. "Go shower, May. You reek."  
  
James groans but obediently rolls out of bed. Jeremy is right. He doesn't only smell gross, he _feels_ gross all over.  
  
There is a moment of indecision before Jeremy says: "There should be some clean pants left in my bag by the door." And then, very quietly: "If you are staying, that is." And it sounds small and hopeful and insecure and James smiles, and showers, and crawls into bed in a pair of Jeremy's pants and one of his undershirts.  
  
"My back's too broken to move,” Jeremy says, but he wraps an arm around James and pulls and tugs at him until his head is resting on Jeremy's shoulder. Jeremy’s fingers play through James' damp hair, rubbing circles into his scalp, and it's obviously a fast lane to making James fall asleep.  
  
Or maybe it's just the exhaustion.   
  
He sure hopes there will be future opportunities to do research on the occurrence.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
James half-wakes in the middle of the night when Richard, all cold bare feet and damp from a fresh shower, crawls into bed and tries to wriggle in between them.   
  
James moves over to make room for him without even thinking about it.  
  
Jeremy wakes with a startled yelp, goes very, very, still, remembers the need for breathing with a snort up his nose but before he can say anything, Richard is settled between them. "Shut up, 'm not gonna be left out,” he mumbles, gives another wriggle so he's pressed more snuggly against James, and promptly falls asleep.  
  
"Uh..." Jeremy says.   
  
James kisses Richard's forehead, like he'd wanted to earlier, like he hadn't dared earlier, then reaches over and squeezes Jeremy's bicep in what he hopes is a reassuring manner before letting sleep wash over himself once more.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When James wakes up in the morning, Richard is still asleep.   
  
Jeremy is lying on his side, head cushioned on his bent arm, watching Richard with a complicated mixture of fear and awed wonder on his face.  
  
And there is no reason to ask, no reason to even say anything. Because it's plain to see on Jeremy's face, in his eyes, how he feels about Richard.   
  
James wonders how he hasn't seen it until now.  
  
He hitches himself up on an elbow and kisses Richard's still far too warm and sweaty forehead. And it's better even than it was in the night, because James is fully awake now, can savour the feeling of his lips on Richard's slight frown, his chin brushing Richard’s eyebrows.  
  
When he pulls away Jeremy has shifted, watching James now instead of Richard, but with that very same expression, that very same mixture of fear and wonder and, well, admiration.  
  
Adoration.  
  
Love.  
  
James leans over Richard, effectively cuddling him in the process, and kisses Jeremy, slow and thorough. Jeremy's eyes close and he responds. They won't have to talk about it. All that needs to be said is right here in that kiss.  
  
"How's the back?" James asks when he pulls away, trapping Richard between them.  
  
Jeremy shrugs one shoulder and struggles into a half-sitting position. "I can move", he says. And just the fact that this is it, that this is all he says, makes it obvious how much he hurts.  
  
James can't help but kiss him again.   
  
When they part this time, Richard's eyes are open. He's watching them intently, eyes slightly fever-glazed but alert, considering.  
  
Jeremy reaches out and lays a hand lightly on his forehead, his fingers playing into Richard’s strands. It's a small gesture, but it's so infinitely gentle it makes James’ eyes sting.   
  
Richard smiles. “Next time -” He lifts the hand away but squeezes it tight for a moment, then presses a soft kiss to the palm before letting go. “Next time_ I _choose where we go. And I know just the place.”  
  



End file.
